Drifting
by The Cosmic Penguin
Summary: Nothing out here but a bunch of stars.


_Yaaayyy, another abstract story concept! How can I tell? The title ends with '-ing'._

 _Anyways, this is practice of sorts for a fanfic coming up that I'm looking forward to. It's not at the **top** of my priority list, but it's pretty high up, and when you see it, you'll definitely enjoy it. By the way, I used Meta Knight in this fic (first time he's actually the only main character). Meta Knight probably spent a considerable amount of time drifting around in his starship in the anime, and I was feeling in the mood to do some experimenting. Enjoy.~_

 _PS: The cover was a snip from the anime, but since FFN shrank it, you can't see the stars._

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There was nothing out here but the stars and himself. Or even…just his body, really. At this point, he wasn't really sure whether he, or his body, was actually in this small spaceship. Perhaps it was just the stars; his species was part star, so all that left was the ship.

Yes, that seemed correct. Just the stars out here.

Floating through space…what did he have to say about it? There was so much, yet so little. Out here in this timeless void, his thoughts…his mind… _himself_ …everything seemed so far away. Like the stars outside, he knew these things were there…but he could not grasp them firmly in his mind. It was as if the feeling of endless drifting had transferred to his mind, and his very being, from staying in space so long with no purpose.

It was ironic, really. The view outside his window was the envy of every normal creature. Parents would point out stars to their offspring; elders would gaze out and think about times gone by; traders would use them to pinpoint their location; wanderers would stare out at them blankly, letting their mind wander with the stars.

He had been doing that last one for too long, or he thought so, perhaps. It was at times like these that he wondered if he had lost his mind somewhere along his endless path of stardust. No purpose, no people, no planets or places to land on. No textures, no feeling, no differences of temperature. Nothing tangible; nothing to even activate his senses besides himself or his ship. His little bubble was temperature-controlled, his belongings were tucked away in his starship's trunk, and the buttons on the ship's control panel were mostly covered in case he fell asleep and rolled onto them. This state of nothingness…it was terrible. But though he knew this, it did not bother him in the slightest, and that scared him—well, it should have; he could not even feel that properly. He simply knew something was wrong. It made him realize he could barely even feel his emotions anymore. Every part of him felt detached from reality; farther away than he could grasp. And almost everywhere he turned, the only things he saw were too far away for him to touch…like everything else in this little bubble.

He had touched himself, before. It had been a while since he'd done so. Thinking about it made him long for physical contact. He took his right paw, and raised it in preparation to touch his other arm. He trembled from the anticipation; he'd limited how often he purposefully touched himself for fear that his body would become too used to the sensation and stop sensing it after a while. He stared at his milky white glove. It was so different from the rest of the blue on the control panel, and on his belongings and skin and clothes. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his thumb around in his palm. He could still feel a bit of warmth from the spot, but it was less than what he'd hoped for. At this time, something reminded him that he was becoming disconnected from himself from drifting so long; that was all. At confirmation from this new thought, satisfaction filled his entire mind, though the feeling was still intangible to him. Everything on his mind vanished, and his body completely relaxed. His limbs dropped and relaxed, and he lay splayed out in his seat.

He stared up and out the top of the bubble, hoping for a different view. Instead, he saw stars flying by. The only difference between lying on his back looking at them, and staring at them straight on, was that straight-on made it seem like you were going into the stars, usually slowly; while lying on his back produced a 'flatter' image where the stars merely rushed from above the front of the ship to the back of his ship. It was quite relaxing, actually; he was lying on his back, staring into nothingness…

…

…Where was his next landing?

His feet were in thin air again, maybe…

If his back hadn't been so sensitive, he may not have even noticed he was still lying on his back. How much time had passed? He didn't want to look, in case it had only been a few minutes…or if it had been a few years. He pulled himself back up—well, in his mind he thought he had; his body did not respond to this in real life. Or perhaps it was his mind tricking him? He saw nowhere to land, and there was no need to land. His ship could run forever; its fuel was common space particles. Its filter and engine system was in perfect condition; he'd checked it himself. There was no need to stop. It would be nice to touch ground again, sure, but it would also bring unnecessary danger. If his ship detected demon beasts, he would help, but until then, he should relax…right? He should be resting, so when he _did_ have to land…he'd be ready. The ship would land _sometime_ …wouldn't it? It had to. Even if it took a century, it would land.

Somewhere in his distanced mind, he heard a faint cry of protest. He didn't want it to take a century to land. He wanted it to land soon, like in an hour. He wanted to feel the ground again; _any_ ground. But as his eyes refocused on the stars rushing by, his mind was isolated and distanced once again, doomed to be as far away as the stars flying by above him—or was it next to him? His loss of physical sensation had left him without a clue on his body's current orientation. But, nothing in his mind really cared, anyway, so the thought was quickly discarded. It wasn't uncommon; thoughts in this state of mind were shallow and fleeting, just like the stars he was watching.

There was something else he should be thinking; something else that he needed to know…What was it? No, what were _they_? His mind strained to handle this thought without throwing it away, but alas, he could come up with no answer. Something was missing; he knew that…

He mentally gripped the statement as hard as he could. He repeated it; he clenched his fists, even though his paws felt really foreign and tingly to him. But no matter what, the gentle tide of his drifting mind slowly washed the thought away with only a feeble resistance on his part. The strange sensation was very subtle about its ways, and he was barely conscious that he was forgetting his thought. All too soon, he was left with a blank starscape once again, unaware of how it had happened and unable to do anything about it. Even the starscape inside him was completely blank—he hadn't eaten anything in ages, so that wasn't much of a surprise. The stars rushing by outside his bubble became the only object of his focus. Ever so slowly, his eyes started to slip shut. The time it took them to close completely was painfully slow, but his mind wasn't completely there to give commands to them quickly. His body, his mind, himself…it was all just drifting through space, with his machine. There was nothing he could do about it. Even his dreams were adrift. His most fleeting thought, on the border between consciousness and unconsciousness, was that every stasis had an end…

And then, the only thing he saw was stars, rushing past while he floated among them.

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 _I hate to say this, but: Please review! I've been almost without audience feedback since I started my second semester of college in January, and I need to know if my writing is still decent or if (and how) it's terrible. Thanks!_


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